


Seeing Stars

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Wears Glasses, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Stoned Sex, Stoner Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5175917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tucks his hat into his messenger bag and runs his hands through his messy hair just as the door swings open. He stills when he sees Derek again, not realizing until this moment, seeing him again, that he wasn’t fully convinced that the insanely hot kisses they shared just a few hours ago actually happened, that <em>Derek </em>actually happened, is happening; that Derek simply <em>is</em>. His beauty is even more stunning than Stiles remembers, the sharp edges and stark angles of his features gentled by his smile, wide and bright in his thick black beard. He’s like something out of a fairy tale, or off the cover a romance novel, or a lot of the guys in his favorite porn, or some improbable combination of all three that makes Stiles weak in the knees.</p>
<p>Part Two of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3804874">Need for Weed</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a smutty part two of Need for Weed, originally posted on [Tumblr!](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/post/132610001682/seeing-stars)
> 
> Thank you for reading! XOXO

Emboldened by the joint he smoke on the way over, Stiles knocks on Derek’s door for the second time tonight, twisting his beanie in his hands. The adrenaline that sent him racing up to Derek’s apartment earlier has turned to bundles of live-wired nerves in the past few hours, the kief-laced joint calming him enough that he thinks he’s hiding just how nervous he is.

Sure, he managed to pull off a confident badass swagger before, but he was barely back in the Jeep when that façade wore off and he realized what he’d done. Yeah, he made out with the hottest guy he’s ever seen, but he also promised to give him the best blowjob of his life -  _I’m gonna suck your cock until you see stars_ , he had said – but once he really started thinking about it, he realized how much he might actually have to live up to. Stiles has given his fair share of blowjobs, sure, and he’s pretty confident, but Derek looks like the kind of guy who has received a ton of head.

He texted Derek when his shift was over and told him he was on his way, and he replied with the security code for the front door of his building and a winking emoji, which made Stiles grin despite his nerves, this small proof Derek is also apparently a total nerd.

Stiles tucks his hat into his messenger bag and runs his hands through his messy hair just as the door swings open. He stills when he sees Derek again, not realizing until this moment, seeing him again, that he wasn’t fully convinced that the insanely hot kisses they shared just a few hours ago actually happened, that  _Derek_ actually happened, is happening; that Derek simply  _is_. His beauty is even more stunning than Stiles remembers, the sharp edges and stark angles of his features gentled by his smile, wide and bright in his thick black beard. He’s like something out of a fairy tale, or off the cover a romance novel, or a lot of the guys in his favorite porn, or some improbable combination of all three that makes Stiles weak in the knees.

“Hi,” he says, gesturing for Stiles to come in, and apparently no matter how magical he may seem, he’s completely real, and happily welcoming Stiles back into his apartment. Shit, even without the weed, Stiles would be giddy and lightheaded.

Derek seems more at ease than he was before, more relaxed, but it’s not because of the Dutch Thunder Fuck Stiles sold him, because Stiles can’t smell a hint of weed in the place. And there’s no red in the bright whites of his supernaturally-bejeweled eyes either, so Stiles is pretty sure he hasn’t eaten any of the edibles either.

“You’re not stoned yet?” he asks, honestly surprised, following Derek down a narrow hallway into his living room.

Derek turns and stops, smiling nervously, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses up the sharp bridge of his nose. “Um, no, I uh, wanted to wait for you?” He looks down and rubs the back of his neck. “And I don’t actually know what I’m doing,” he adds with a shrug, like he’s embarrassed, and it’s the cutest goddamn thing Stiles has ever seen.

“No worries, big guy,” Stiles assures him with a smile, patting his bag. “I’ll take good care of you.”

**~*~**

 

“I’m guessing you don’t have a grinder,” Stiles asks, falling onto the couch next to Derek after he brings both of them cans of beer from the kitchen.

“Um,” Derek mumbles, “Yeah, but I don’t really go on there much.” His eyes flit towards his phone on the coffee table, his cheeks pinking even more.

It takes him a second to realize Derek’s misunderstanding, and Stiles snorts and giggles when he does. “Nah dude, not Grindr.” He pulls out the purple and gold Crown Royal bag that he keeps his travel piece and various supplies in. Trying not to be too distracted, too wildly, insanely curious about Derek’s Grindr activity – namely, why in the hell hasn’t he found him on there yet, because fuck, this guy is so his type – he lays out his trusty black and red glass handpipe and one of his smaller grinders on the coffee table. “For grinding bud,” he explains, opening the small steel cylinder to show Derek the metal teeth and the screen, the bottom piece designed to collect kief. “It’s not totally necessary, but it makes for a smoother bowl.”

Stiles puts a generous bud of AK-47 from his personal stash into the grinder and starts twisting the top piece, determined to stay focused on what he’s doing, knowing damn well that if he looks at Derek for too long, he’ll lose track of not just of grinding the weed, but possibly of his entire existence, of anything that isn’t the sparkling gold-flecked-jade of Derek’s eyes, watching him so closely it’s making his skin feel too hot, too tight. He finishes grinding the bud and loads the bowl, acutely aware of the heat flaming his cheeks and ears, of the track of Derek’s eyes over his hands, his arms, his fucking eyes openly, possibly even wantonly, tracing all over Stiles’ body. “You want the honors?” Stiles asks, holding out the perfectly packed pipe and a lighter, his voice totally not shaking in anticipation and excitement.

Derek ducks his head, sheepish. “I don’t really know what to do,” he admits. “I’d probably still be trying to figure out where to put the weed if you weren’t here,” he adds, smiling.

Stiles’ laugh rolls through him, easy and natural, like he’s known Derek for years, not just hours. “Well good thing I am. I don’t know your life, dude, but it seems like you seriously need to just get high and chill out, man.”

Sighing, Derek falls back into the couch. “I think you’re right.” He looks Stiles over again, eyes narrowing, mischievous. “You’ll show me how,” he asks, voice lilting with innuendo.

Stiles takes it as the invitation it is, and, mustering all the grace he can while his heart is beating so rapidly, launches himself towards Derek and swings a leg across his hips. He settles himself on his lap, his ass fitting into the cradle of his sturdy thighs. “I’ll just, uh, help you out for the first few hits, ‘kay?” His voice is little more than a whisper, and he doesn’t mean to sound so throaty, so fucking turned on, or fuck, maybe he does, because there’s no denying it, Derek still has him spun.

Derek rests his hands on Stiles’ hips, eyes stuck on his mouth while he lights the bowl and takes a long drag. The smoke is sticky-sweet, dense and a little sour; Stiles inhales shallowly before leaning forward just enough to hover his lips over Derek’s, the ghost of their earlier kiss hovering between them like the smoke Stiles is breathing into his parted lips. He fights the urge to close the distance between them, wants Derek to be able inhale the shared hit.

Stiles is impressed; yeah, it’s a shotgun hit, but it was a pretty strong one nonetheless, and for a weed virgin, Derek takes it perfectly. Stiles watches, mesmerized, as the smoke curls out Derek’s nose and mouth, tantalizing tendrils that hover between them. 

“Ready to try it on your own?” Stiles asks, voice thick.

Derek runs his teeth, which, this close, Stiles can see are adorably uneven, over his bottom lip. “I don’t think so,” he smiles, his lashes, long and ink-dark, fluttering behind his glasses. “I think you should show me again.”

**~*~**

He’ll blame it on the weed, but it’s really Derek’s mischievous smirk that makes him fall forward, pipe forgotten, attacking his mouth once again, the last traces of smoke on their mouths crashing together in another searing, hungry kiss. Derek laughs and pulls him closer, until Stiles is flush against his broad chest, those bulging arms wrapping around his back.

Eventually he breaks free long enough to shotgun him a few more hits, and two and a half bowls later, Stiles has Derek exactly how he’s wanted him since the moment he first saw him: on his bed, naked and sprawled on his back, utterly, blissfully stoned, quivering and panting under Stiles’ talented mouth and hands.

Derek says something that gets lost in his moans, and Stiles glances up from where’s he’s resting on his knees between his splayed thighs, tonguing slow, dragging circles along the curve of his heavy balls. “What’s that, big guy?”

“Please,” Derek huffs, jutting his hips up. “Fuck, Stiles,  _please,_ ” he begs, one hand twisting in the sheets, the other in Stiles’ hair.

Stiles smiles, incredibly pleased with himself. He’s already brought Derek to the edge twice, sloppily sucking and teasing at his big, uncut cock until he’s about to come, then backing off with a grin, drinking up Derek’s whimpering moans, determined to drag this out as long as he can, to show Derek just how fucking amazing it feels to come while high.

He stares up Derek’s body, still in utter disbelief at his beauty, his rippling abs shining with sweat and spotted with reddening hickies. Derek is watching him too, his eyes bloodshot but bright, glittering, his pupils huge, haloed by the thinnest sliver of green. Without breaking his gaze, Stiles slips a split-slick finger into the furred cleft of Derek’s ass, gentle and questioning.

Derek’s eyes roll back and he grunts, even louder now, hips jolting up, legs spreading wider. Stiles takes that as an enthusiastic yes and pushes in farther, biting down on his bottom lip and groaning, circling the tight ring of twitching muscle. He rests his head on Derek’s thigh, sighing in delighted wonder at the sight of him, the feel of him, at his own luck in stumbling upon this glorious creature, at how perfectly stunning and strong but still somehow sweet he is, at how he writhes and bucks and asks for more, moaning Stiles’ name like this is their hundredth time, not their first.

He’s thrumming with an affection and passion he’s never felt before, utterly bewitched by every glimmer of Derek’s eyes, every flex and flutter of his powerful muscles, every hitch and stutter in his breathe as Stiles has lavished attention on his beautiful body; he’s certain he’s never felt this way or wanted someone this much, and the two forces hitting him at once are hitting him just as hard as the weed, mind and body dense with bubbling sensation and pleasure.

Stiles moves so he’s back on his knees, straddling Derek’s thigh, one hand working his own cock while the other pushes farther into Derek’s relaxed, eager hole, breaching him easily and sliding in up to the second knuckle. He’s so hot and tight inside it makes Stiles want him even more, makes him want to get as much of himself inside of Derek as he possibly can, wants to feel and know and maybe even love him from the inside out.

Derek rocks and angles his hips, searching, helping him find the sweet spot as his finger slides all the way in. More precome spills from Stiles’ cock, and he strokes faster, spurred on by the burning velvet heat clasping at his finger, desperately, wantonly. Stiles curves his finger up and presses firmly on the tight bundles of nerves he’s been looking for, and is rewarded with the most beautiful, graceful arch of Derek’s back and another aching groan inflected with the softened edges of Stiles’ name, spilling from his swollen mouth but coming from deep in his chest, his core, from where Stiles is inside of him, finding the most tender, intimate piece of him. It only takes a few more firm strokes, and then Derek is coming, finally, his cock untouched but still shining with Stiles’ spit, flushed dark and curving towards his belly as he spills and spills, thick milky ribbons streaking his abs and chest.

Derek’ ass clenches even tighter around his finger, and Stiles can’t help but think about how good that impossible tight heat would feel around his cock, still rapidly stroking both Derek’s prostate and himself, crying out loud enough to echo Derek’s moans when he comes too, adding his mess to Derek’s on his sweaty abs; his body goes rigid, every nerve and muscle pulled taut with the blistering waves of pleasure, and then releases in an explosion of tremors that make him collapse on to Derek’s chest in an exhausted heap.

They lie there like that for a long time, panting breathes syncing, their combined come sticky between them, bodies hot and slick and dense with bone-deep pleasure. Distantly, Stiles thinks that this might be the happiest he’s ever felt, and he’s stoned and sex-dumb enough to not question it, to not freak out at the thought that this man he just met feels like more than just happiness, but like  _home_.

Eventually Stiles moves to the side a bit so he’s no longer sprawled over him, but still close, limbs tangled, heads close together on a shared pillow, eyes watching each other, hands stroking idly over each other’s bodies, the comfort and ease between them a warm, safe cocoon that Stiles wants to live in forever.

“You’w’re right,” Derek slurs, voice thick, just as they’re both about to fall asleep. “Y’made me see stars,” he sighs, eyes falling completely shut, smile growing wider. “Stay the night,” he says. “In the morning I’ll make you see stars, I promise.”

Stiles laughs softly into the pillow, his chest flooding with warmth at Derek’s invitation, at the too-good-to-be-true idea of waking up next to him. He reaches up to pet his beard, thumbs over his kiss-swollen lips, trails his fingers up into his hair. “You already did, big guy,” he murmurs, barely more than a whisper, because Derek’s already asleep, still smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out on [the tumbles!](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com)


End file.
